


All We Do Is Sit In The Silence And Wait For A Sign

by polargypsy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash, Season 5A, Stiles Has Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polargypsy/pseuds/polargypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was inspired by a tumblr prompt by <a>Rita/Crossroadwrite</a> of Stiles repeatedly going to Derek's loft after he leaves town + my ever-growing need for someone to just BELIEVE Stiles. Yes, I know - we all need it. </p><p> </p><p>This fic is un-beta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Do Is Sit In The Silence And Wait For A Sign

"You'd think by now they would actually believe me," he mutters as he absentmindedly drags the door shut behind him. His footsteps echoes across the concrete floor, but not loud enough for him to notice, too wrapped up in his thoughts. He complains loudly, "I mean, just add Theo to the list! Because it is in fact a list at this point! Peter, Matt, even me." That sobers him up and out of his rant for a minute, but it isn't until he reaches into the fridge and grapples at thin air that he realizes.

He's in Derek's loft.

Derek's empty loft.

The silence makes him halt. The space feels heavy, like dust. Derek's few belongings are weighted down with it. Left behind like bad memories. He could almost see the worn down path where people had paced in front of the huge loft windows. The cold concrete where Boyd's blood has seeped into every nook while Stiles held up Derek's shaking frame. Life and death had balanced in each and every belonging left behind when Derek left town.  Stiles wouldn't have taken that stuff with him either. Why carry the extra baggage? He understood. He sighs as he whispers into the empty space.

"You would've believed me."

 

*****

 

It becomes a habit after that. A habit that he doesn't tell anyone about. 

He can tell that Scott and Malia can smell the faint scent of Derek on him, but they don’t ask him about it. Why bother, right? The pack communication wasn’t on its peak. But that was familiar territory of distant memories of growling alphas and aggressive hunters. He lets his heart ache silently for Allison before he locks himself into the loft. Stiles tries moving around the space, pretending like he isn't some foreign object within it. Like this is normal - nothing to see here, just a part of Stiles Stilinski’s day – most people wouldn’t even set their feet in here. It was too depressing. But it was Derek’s, Stiles thinks. That was good enough for him right now. He lets the walls take in his concerns, his secrets and his anger. He has a lot of anger. The walls can handle it, understands that he needs to let it out. Just like Derek. Silent like Derek too, minus the articulate eyebrow game. Of course.

"It's like it's all just simmering underneath the surface, you know?" The walls silently agree. "And I have nowhere to direct it, nowhere to put it down. No one to spar with,” he flails his arms in emphasis. “Scott is always looking at me in that soft concerning way. Lydia helps sometimes, but she get’s easily tired of it. Kira's not even an option; it would be like kicking a puppy. Same goes for the newlings,” Stiles is silent for a second, “well, most of the time anyways. I mean, Liam is such an easy target. Malia -" Stiles sighs and it somehow echoes into the big space. "Well, she is a Hale. She understands. But sometimes it's like deep down I don't want her too." He clamps his mouth shut after that, with the feeling like he's said too much. He opens his chemistry books and gets to work, absentmindedly sipping from the warm soda can he had brought from home - the fridge was still miserably empty.

 

*****

 

Some days he sits just sits there - in the middle of the room (close to the almost washed out blood stains left behind by Boyd) - in complete silence. And he misses Derek.

 

*****

 

Other days he stumbles into the building, and screams his lungs out until his throat is raspy and his mind blissfully empty of the bussing thought-traffic driving him crazy.

 

*****

 

He always liked Malia’s straightforwardness, yet feels like a tiny easily squashed bug under her microscopic stare. Like she would be able to see all his layers and defences.

 

She’s the first to ask. He figured the silence that had spread out over the pack would break at some point. He steals himself, ready to answer  - or deflect; whichever got him out of this pending conversation the quickest – when Malia catches him off guard.

“You’re sad. “

“What?”

“You smell sad. Is it because we didn’t agree with you about Theo?”

He feels a minute of pride for her. In this whirlwind that was their existence, Malia was still thriving to be better, to learn what she had missed out on. Stiles lost that skill once the darkness took roots in the crevices of his chest.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” he says.

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“But I want to understand you.” She looks at him, that way she does when she’s concentrating to not let her animal instinct take over. Sometimes she was more human than he ever felt. It was no easy thing to be, human. He knew she knew that.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Theo is probably fine too – evil or not. It doesn’t really matter.”

“You don’t smell fine.” She shrugs as he glares at her for just a second. Damn were-animals, thinking they were entitled to your emotions. She reads that too and lifts her hands in defeat. She turns to leave, but speaks softly as she says, “If he turns out to be no good, I’ll rip his throat out. Alright?”

Her back is turned to him but he smiles anyway. “Thanks.”

 

*****

 

He counts his fingers, again and again, tapping them on the steering wheel one by one, his eyes kind of aware of the road. He’s awake. This happened. Even if the body is gone. _Who would take the body, and where?_ the detective part of his brain has time to think before his panic attack takes over completely. His continues to count his fingers.

 

He doesn’t remember parking or getting out of the car, but his hands are still shaking, just like the weird scraggly elevator he’s taking up to the top floor. The doors whine just like his aching limbs. He practically falls into the loft. He feels the cold concrete vaguely so he pushes his forehead to it.

 

He thinks of Scott.

He calls Derek.

 

It doesn’t take long before a slightly groggy but immediately alert Derek answers.

“Stiles…?”

Stiles laughs weakly, but he can’t hide his stuttering breath.

“…Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Derek says.

Hearing the hint of concern in his voice almost pulls Stiles to the surface. It was just so foreign. It gets a little easier to breathe all the same.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He begins, but realizes he doesn’t really know how to say it out loud.

“You can tell me, Stiles. Whatever it is.” Derek says, surprisingly soft.

“I think I killed someone.” There it was. Said out loud for the first time. He feels like screaming. He almost wished Derek would. He could picture it. Good ‘ol Derek, yelling things like, “just what I need, another angsty teenager making stupid decision and messing up my already annoying existence.” But this was Derek, 4.0, post sourwolf, post alpha, post adviser, post rising from the dead. Yelling didn’t seem like his forte anymore.

“Stiles, just breathe and talk to me. I know you can.” Derek says. The little hint of teasing in his voice triggers something old and safe within Stiles, so he does.

 

He talks.

“It started when dad arrested this kid Donovan…”

 

He talks until his voice almost gives in, and Derek listens to each and every word. Stiles realized how much he had needed to feel heard, almost starved for it. Still he can’t help the tremble in his voice as he says, “Do you believe me? I mean, I didn’t have a choice, right?”

“I believe you Stiles,” Derek says, his strong, sure voice coaxing out the air Stiles didn’t know he was holding in, locked away in his lungs right next to his rabbit heart. But it’s what Derek says next that Stiles realizes means even more.

“And Scott will too. You need to tell him. Everything.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your feedbacks and comments always and forever.  
> This is my first AO3 published fic, so be gentle on me. 
> 
> For more unorganized mess, come and say hi to me on  tumblr.   
> I'm lethalumbrellas.  
> PS. I'm thinking of writing a coda/epilogue to this where Derek return and you know, more stuff happens.  
> Yay/nay?


End file.
